


So Ist Es Immer

by theorchardofbones



Series: From Darkness to Light [7]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Happy Ending, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Older!Gladio, Older!Prompto, Post-Endgame, Prompto/Cindy (mentioned), Resolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-19 07:41:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11308827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theorchardofbones/pseuds/theorchardofbones
Summary: With Noct gone, so returns the sun. Gladiolus and Prompto have yet to grieve, but for now they move forward as friends and allies... and something more.Written forPromptio Weekday 7, under the prompt 'firsts'.





	So Ist Es Immer

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from [a song from the Shingeki no Kyojin soundtrack](https://g.co/kgs/CDeAjk) (as does the title of the very first fic in this series). I liked the idea of the chocobros revelling by night after a long day of fighting, sharing in a sort of bittersweet camaraderie. The song in question is actually pretty fitting for this game, if you give it a listen.
> 
> As always, I'm on tumblr [here](http://theorchardofbones.tumblr.com) and [here](http://flowercrownsandchocobos.tumblr.com).

Ten years. Ten years of darkness, of fighting. Ten years of wondering if each day would be the last.

Ten years, and all it took was one night to change it all.

Gladiolus doesn’t see the pink threads of the sunrise weaving through the tapestry of varying shades of black overhead; doesn’t see the breaking of the first dawn the world has known in a decade.

He sits on the steps of the Citadel, his head in his hands. There’s blood on them. His own — daemons don’t bleed. They fended off wave after wave of the things, knowing full well that the real battle was being fought behind them, by Noctis.

Then the daemons had just… stopped. Turned to ash, like blackened stardust. Gone.

It had been Ignis who had suggested they head back to the Citadel, to check on the prince. To see if the deed was done. It had been Prompto who had stepped forward, who had reluctantly spanned the steps and pushed the doors open as if they weighed so much more than they should. Prompto, who had emerged much later, his breath shuddering out with poorly-hidden sobs.

_It’s over,_ had been Gladiolus’s first thought. And then: _He’s gone._

He doesn’t look up at the sky even as the sun warms a decade-old chill from his bones, even as Prompto rests a hand on his shoulder. What’s the point? Ten years spent trying to remember the exact shade of the sunrise, and he can’t even bring himself to look at it.

They walk through the city as the world lights up around them, dragging their sorry feet through the destruction and decay.

Prompto stops them before they get very far. He tugs at Gladiolus’s sleeve and points, and when Gladiolus turns back it takes a moment but then he spots it, clear as day.

The Citadel’s windows glint in the sun’s glow, afire with the light of the newborn day. It’s a sight Gladiolus hasn’t seen in ten long years; it weighs so heavily on his heart that he has to look away.

* * *

‘Y’know y’all are welcome to stay here tonight, right?’

Cindy has a smudge of oil on the bridge of her nose. She had rushed to hug them all when they had shown up at Hammerhead; Gladiolus is pretty sure his Kingsglaive uniform has handprints all over the back of it, invisible on the dark material.

Prompto looks at him. Reflexively, he looks at Ignis.

A decade of figuring things out as a group — or, more often than not, failing to agree on anything and going their separate ways — and all they can do is look to one another to make the call.

Gladiolus sighs.

‘We’ll get back to you on that,’ he says.

Cindy adjusts the brim of her cap. It’s the same one she’s worn all this time, battered and threadbare, the logo barely legible any more.

‘Alrighty,’ she says. ‘You know where to find me.’

They each have their list of people to check in with; Gladiolus wants to stop in to Lestallum and see Iris. Somehow, in the face of everything — all the possibilities they have, laid out across the endless horizon under a burning sun — he feels afraid to move.

‘I’m going to remain here,’ Ignis says suddenly. It’s the first thing he’s said since the Citadel. ‘To assist in the reclamation efforts in any way I can.’

Gladiolus nods; watches after Ignis as he starts towards Cindy’s retreating figure on her path to the garage. Just like that, no goodbyes. It’s not the first time.

‘I… guess I should too,’ Prompto says.

Gladiolus knows there are ulterior motives there; knows Prompto and Cindy have shared a bed more than once over the past ten years. Prompto has always been glib on the matter whenever Gladiolus tries to bring it up and he, in turn, has tried to make light of it. Somehow now — after what they’ve been through — the thought of them sharing the first sunset together sticks in his craw.

‘Come to Lestallum with me,’ Gladiolus says. ‘Iris’d love to see you.’

Prompto brings his hand up and ruffles it through his hair, still filled dust from the ruins of Insomnia. He casts a glance back over his shoulder, towards the garage. Towards Cindy.

When Prompto looks back to him, Gladiolus holds his gaze. An invitation; an appeal.

_Please._

Prompto wets his lips. Finally, after a lifetime and a day, he nods.

‘Okay.’

* * *

Prompto drives this time and Gladiolus is glad for it. He doesn’t trust his hands, doesn’t trust _himself_.

Night begins to fall somewhere along the way, before Lestallum ever comes into sight. Gladiolus finds himself searching frantically for havens alongside the road as they speed down the blacktop, narrowly avoiding ruts in its surface along the way. They find an abandoned Coernix station, pulling into its parking lot. Prompto jimmies the door and they slip inside, pressing it tightly closed behind them.

Gladiolus tries the lights; no joy. Under the gaunt glow of their torches the place is eerie, like a step back in time. It looks mostly untouched, covered in a heavy layer of dust.

‘Gladio.’

He looks up. Prompto has gone a little ahead, cracking open the door to the employee restrooms.

‘Shower,’ he says.

‘You’re kidding.’

Their luck only seems to get better when they try the knobs — running water, cold but clear. Prompto calls first dibs and Gladiolus heads back out to the storefront, checking through the shelves for anything of use.

Most of the food has expired by a decade, and anything not in a can or a foil seal has a prolific colony of mold on its surface. The bottled water looks okay, and there are minor medical supplies that should do in a pinch.

At the cash register there’s a rack of postcards of the local landmarks and he picks one out, a particularly scenic shot of Taelpar Crag that he thinks Prompto would like. He folds it up and stuffs it in his pocket just as Prompto emerges, the beam of light from his torch cutting through the dust motes stirred up in the air.

‘All yours,’ Prompto says.

There are no towels, not that Gladiolus expected that particular luxury. He rinses off in the ice-cold stream first, then quickly lathers up with a bottle of the most expensive shampoo the store has to offer. By the end of it he smells of something flowery and sweet that he can’t even place the name of; he has to dry off on a shirt from a souvenir rack but he thinks it might be one of the best showers he has ever had.

The lights flicker to life as he pulls on his clothes, almost blinding him. He blinks the stars out of his eyes and buttons up the fly of his jeans, shirt in hand as he steps out into the storefront.

‘Generator out back,’ Prompto says, throwing a thumb in the direction of a door with an Employees Only sign. ‘Got a bit of life left in it for a few hours.’

Gladiolus tugs his shirt on, ignoring the still-damp spots on his chest and back, where the material clings to him.

‘Good work,’ he says. ‘Oughta keep the daemons at bay for a while.’

He shows Prompto his haul of scavenged supplies, and Prompto directs him into the little break room in back where there’s an armchair and a couch. Dust comes off the fabric in clouds as they pat the upholstery down, making Prompto sneeze uncontrollably, but eventually they have functional beds for the night.

‘You take the couch,’ Prompto says.

Gladiolus shakes his head.

‘That tiny little thing? You go ahead. I’ll be fine in the chair.’

They share canned food heated up in the mini oven in the break room, sipping from disposable cups of flat soda mixed with twenty-dollar liquor. When the generator dies and the lights flicker out, Gladiolus looks tensely towards the door, waiting for it to burst open.

‘I don’t think they’re coming,’ Prompto says quietly. ‘I think the daemons are gone.’

They fill the break room with candles raided from the store, covering every table and surface. By the end of it the space is filled with a pleasant glow and Gladiolus settles into a corner of the sofa by Prompto, trying to convince himself that they’re safe.

It’s hard to undo ten years of conditioning, of flinching at every sudden noise.

‘Gladio?’ Prompto says.

He has his knees pulled up to his chest, his cup cradled against his chest. It could be a scene from years before, when a twenty-year-old young man had curled up spryly in a rickety fold-up chair beside a campfire. 

Gladiolus gestures for him to continue.

It takes him a while to spit it out; he thumbs over the edge of his cup, taps his foot absently on the edge of the couch. Gladiolus can’t tell if he’s thinking hard over what he’s about to say or just admiring the particular hue of his drink as he stares down into it.

‘Cindy wanted to talk about me staying at Hammerhead,’ he says, finally. ‘Working there, I mean.’

Gladiolus’s stomach flips. He should be grateful that Prompto has a life to go to now that it’s all over, but…

‘Did you say yes?’

Prompto shakes his head. He takes a tentative little sip of his drink and chews at his bottom lip.

‘Not yet,’ he says. ‘I used to think about it, if things ever got back to normal. There’s something kinda nice about working on cars. Stable.’

‘Cindy’s not too rough on the eyes, either,’ Gladiolus says. He chases his words with a chuckle that comes out all gruff and wrong, like it’s not his voice.

The dancing candlelight plays tricks with the lines around Prompto’s eyes, etching them deeper one moment and hiding them the next. When did they both get so old?

‘What do you wanna do?’ Prompto says. He looks up suddenly, matching Gladiolus’s glance with his own. ‘Now that it’s all over?’

Gladiolus moves his head just slightly, not even sure if it’s a shake or a nod. Truth is, he hadn’t thought about it — hadn’t planned beyond getting Noct back and putting things right. A third of his life has been spent fighting back a darkness that only surged forth ever more persistently.

‘I don’t know,’ he murmurs. ‘I gotta talk to Iris first. Then I’ll figure it out.’

‘You could come to Hammerhead,’ Prompto says. ‘Iggy had a point — they’ll be running the reclamation effort outta there for a while. Could always use an extra set of hands.’

‘I don’t think that’s gonna work.’

There’s a question on Prompto’s lips, in his eyes, but Gladiolus turns away. He drains the last of the foul, sickly-sweet liquid from the bottom of his cup and sets it aside, rising to his feet. He’s not looking forward to a night curled up in an armchair, but it’ll hardly be the worst night’s sleep he’s ever had to contend with.

‘We’ll make Lestallum by midday if we leave first thing,’ Gladiolus says. ‘Get some rest.’

He blows the candles out one by one, plunging the room steadily into darkness. When he sinks into his chair he thinks he can see a faint sliver of blue moonlight under the door and focuses on it, slowing his breathing so that Prompto thinks he’s asleep.

Once he hears soft snores from the couch he carefully stands and slips from the room, crossing the store and letting himself out into the night.

The moon is high, glorious and bright. The sight of it makes him giddy, makes him want to take off at a sprint down the blacktop even though he left his shoes inside. Maybe he could; he wonders what Prompto would think, finding the room empty with just a pair of boots by the door. Probably high tail it back to Hammerhead, back to Cindy’s arms.

Maybe this is better, this… _jealousy_ , whatever it is. Better than Noct’s face creeping into the edge of his thoughts; better than remembering that last night they all spent at the haven together, saying their goodbyes.

If he just keeps his mind on something, anything else, maybe he can pretend...

When he gets back to the room he thinks Prompto might be awake, but he says nothing. Gladiolus settles himself into his chair, head thrown against the back of it as he stares up at the black expanse of the ceiling above.

Sleep will come, eventually. For now he has his thoughts, and the sound of Prompto’s breathing steadily slowing as sleep overcomes him once more.

* * *

Prompto’s in danger; in pain. It’s a voretooth, tearing at his throat; it’s a daemon, choking the life from him; it’s a man in a long dark cloak, soft-spoken but vicious as he pushes steel into Prompto’s flesh.

He can’t differentiate dream from reality even as his eyes snap open, but he knows enough when he hears Prompto’s shout to clamber to his feet and rush to his friend’s side.

Prompt’s sitting up, head cradled in his hands. He’s trembling, his skin cold as Gladiolus grips at his shoulders.

‘Prom,’ he says, hoarse. ‘Prompto.’

In the dim light let in by the crack under the door, he sees Prompto’s hands drop from his face. He thinks maybe he was crying, maybe there are still tears glinting on his cheeks. When Prompto throws his arms around his neck he doesn’t protest, doesn’t push him away, wrapping his arms around him instead.

He can’t be sure how long they stay there, holding each other, but gradually he feels the tension melt from Prompto’s shoulders. For a long while after neither of them moves, neither daring to let go.

Gladiolus feels his friend press his face into his neck, feels the flutter of eyelashes against his skin. Feels strong arms slip from around him, a hand tracing down his chest. Even through the material of his tank he can feel every touch, can feel Prompto hesitate over his heart. Gladiolus wonders if he can feel it pounding; if he can feel the need vibrating in every one of his cells.

It’s too dark, Gladiolus decides. He can’t see Prompto’s face, can’t see the expression he hopes he’ll find there. He’d light the candles again but he’s scared to move, scared to do anything too fast in case he startles Prompto away.

Prompto’s fingers clutch at his shirt; he feels Prompto’s head move, lifting from his shoulder.

They’re clumsy in the darkness. Prompto’s lips find his, but their noses knock at first, then their teeth clash together painfully. When Prompto gives a soft little laugh Gladiolus feels the tension burst within him, fading away with each circuit of his pulse.

‘Lemme get the candles,’ Prompto says.

Gladiolus waits, patiently sitting at the edge of the couch, as Prompto slips around him and pads about, lighting candles along the way. With each flimsy little light he warms the room and casts a glow on his pale skin. He’s not wearing a shirt, and a sea of freckles washes over the planes of his back, faded from years of darkness but still written indelibly into his skin.

When Prompto turns back toward the couch, Gladiolus sees his hesitation as reluctance; feels a decade of waiting, of wanting, of _hoping_ come crashing down around him.

Prompto takes a step closer, then another. Bit by bit he closes the gap to the couch and settles himself down on it at Gladiolus’s side.

‘You probably wanna get some sleep,’ Prompto says, looking down at his hands in his lap.

Gladiolus laughs.

‘Shut up, Prompto.’

He lifts his hand and cups Prompto’s chin; angles it upward to give things another shot. This time, their lips meet gently.

He nudges Prompto; lays him back and comes to rest over him, thighs astride his. They barely fit the length of the couch, the two of them like this, but they could be on the ground for all he cares with Prompto looking up at him like he is now. Like he wants this more than anything in the world.

Their hands are timid, placing gentle touches here or there to test the waters. Prompto tugs a little at the hem of Gladiolus’s shirt and, when he isn’t rebuffed, pulls it up and off, casting it aside. When Gladiolus lowers himself down, touching kisses to Prompto’s collarbone, Prompto tips his head back to let him, eyelids fluttering closed.

They move slowly: painfully, achingly slowly. It feels at once as though they have the rest of their lives to do this, and as though this might all end in the blink of an eye. 

When Gladiolus sits up to unbutton his jeans, Prompto lies there watching him. Gladiolus feels a pang of self-consciousness over his torso, covered in so many cuts now that he feels more scar tissue than man at times, but before he can dwell on it Prompto reaches up and touches a hand to Gladiolus’s chest, over his heart once more.

‘You look worried,’ Prompto says, hesitantly. ‘Do you… do you wanna stop?’

Gladiolus shakes his head.

‘Never.’

Using this as encouragement, Prompto moves his hand down and takes over from where Gladiolus unfastens his pants, working the buttons open in his stead. Once his fly is open, Prompto slips his fingertips beneath the band of his jeans, a featherlight touch that suggests so much more.

‘I thought about this,’ Gladiolus admits. He rests his hands on Prompto’s hips beneath him, looking down at the freckles across his torso before lifting his glance to Prompto’s face once more. ‘Back… before everything. Never figured it’d be on a dusty old couch in the back of a Coernix truck stop.’

Prompto’s cheeks flush a most delicious pink; the sight of it makes Gladiolus want to lean down and kiss him all over.

‘You thought about… us?’

Gladiolus feels the corner of his mouth twist in a wry grin. It was never anything particularly sordid — not that Prompto hadn’t crept into his imaginings on occasion on lonely nights. Still, it had embarrassed him then, had made him feel guilty when Prompto had greeted him brightly the next day with a clap on the shoulder or a cheery smile.

‘I kinda…’ Prompto trails off, looking away. When he bites his lip, Gladiolus remembers a time years earlier when he had wondered how it would feel to kiss him. ‘I kinda thought about being with you, too.’

It’s enough — enough to convince Gladiolus that this is right. Where the grief keeps creeping in at the edges, insidious, he manages to push it aside for just a little while.

He gets to his feet and Prompto helps him tug his jeans down; when it’s just the two of them in their underwear he moves to straddle Prompto again. There’s no chance of modesty, not now; he can feel Prompto pressed up against him, and when he pushes down gently Prompto gives a little moan that makes his heart jolt with need.

He leans down over Prompto, catching him in a kiss that starts out soft and slow, until Prompto urges him on with his tongue. He feels Prompto tugging at the band of his boxers with one hand, feels the other shakily move to cup him between his legs. The first touch sends a jolt through him so fierce that he can’t help but groan against Prompto’s lips.

All bets are off after that; he lifts his hips, letting Prompto yank his boxers down and clumsily kicking them off. He goes for Prompto’s briefs, breaking from the kiss only long enough to slide them down his thighs.

Gladiolus lowers himself onto Prompto, resting the bulk of his weight on his elbows where he leans over him. They’re skin to skin now, hips pressed together, and he feels Prompto grind tentatively up against him. Even that gentle motion is enough to light a fire in him, enough to make their slow, cautious pace seem like torture.

He feels Prompto’s warm fingertips run down his side, along his hip. When Gladiolus lifts his hips a little, those fingertips move to touch him. A jolt of pleasure goes through him; he realises, belatedly, that Prompto has taken them both into his hand.

‘Fuck,’ he breathes.

He hears Prompto chuckle softly, opens his eyes and sees Prompto looking at him demurely, cheeks all aflush.

It’s too much — too much, not enough, he can’t even tell the difference any more. He moves his hand under Prompto’s head and knots his fingers through his hair, still damp from the shower. His other hand, shaking so badly he can barely make it do what he wants, slips between them and covers Prompto’s fingers, urging him on.

Prompto finds his release first; it starts with him chewing on his lip and tipping his head back, eyelids fluttering in pleasure, and ends with a moan so low, so desperate, so _sweet_ that it brings out bumps all over Gladiolus’s flesh.

The sight of Prompto like that is enough to tip Gladiolus over the edge. He has just enough time to lean in, pressing his mouth to Prompto’s as the wave washes over him, filling him with heat. When the feeling dies down, he’s trembling so badly he can do little more than lower himself onto Prompto, heedless of the mess between them.

When it feels as though his entire body might no longer be jelly, he pulls himself up and stands, pausing only when Prompto grabs at his hand, tugging at it insistently. There’s worry in his blue eyes, worry that makes Gladiolus’s heart twist.

‘Don’t go far,’ Prompto murmurs.

Gladiolus turns, lowering himself to his haunches and looking Prompto right in the eye as he squeezes his hand.

‘I’ll be right back,’ he promises.

He hunts down a pack of wet wipes from the shelves of the store. As he’s turning back to the break room, the fridge along the far wall catches his eye — rows and rows of energy drinks, all lined up. No doubt they’re flat by now and probably rancid, but they’re Prompto’s favourite. He grabs an armload of them and heads back.

Prompto is still lying there, arm thrown back behind his head and eyes closed. His hair is in its natural state, unruly curls tousled about his face. He stirs a little when Gladiolus softly presses the door shut, his lips curving into a tiny smile.

‘You fell asleep, didn’t you?’ Gladiolus says.

‘Yup.’

He sets the cans down gently on the floor by the couch, then sits at the edge with the wet wipes in hand. Diligently, he uses them to wipe Prompto clean, then himself.

‘You get some sleep,’ he says.

Blearily, Prompto’s eyes flutter open. He looks dreamily up at Gladiolus and stretches out a hand to touch his jaw.

‘I don’t want to,’ he murmurs.

They manage to squeeze onto the couch, the two of them, with Gladiolus’s legs hanging off one end while Prompto curls up on his chest. It’s far from comfortable, but neither of them seem to care.

Prompto has his ear pressed to Gladiolus’s chest, his fingertips brushing absently over the edge of one of his scars.

‘What do you think…’

He tapers off, turning his head to look up at Gladiolus. He wets his lips before trying again.

‘What do you think Noct would say, if he could see us right now?’

Gladiolus glances away. His throat is thick with a feeling he’s been fending off for the better part of the past twenty-four hours; he’s come this far without giving in to it.

‘Probably “put some clothes on, weirdos”,’ he says.

Prompto smiles, but it’s flimsy — gone in an instant.

‘I think,’ Gladiolus says, ‘he’d tell us he’s glad we’ve got each other.’

He wonders if he said the wrong thing; Prompto presses his lips tightly together and settles his head back down on Gladiolus’s chest.

‘Yeah,’ Prompto whispers. ‘I think you’re right.’

* * *

They’re both awake in time for the dawn; both rise and dress, silently, before stepping out to watch the sun rise.

There’s a distance between them of only a couple feet, but in the chill of the morning air it feels like miles. Gladiolus worries — worries that his friend regrets the night before, worries that things will be changed now, for the worse.

He feels Prompto reach out and grab his arm; watches as he moves close and leans back against him, tucking his head neatly under Gladiolus’s chin and wrapping himself up in Gladiolus’s arms.

They watch the sun break on the horizon like this, in perfect, comfortable silence.

They fill the car with as many supplies as they can gather — Gladiolus hides the energy drinks away under the passenger seat, for later — and pack up to go. To Gladiolus, it feels like saying goodbye to a friend as they bundle into the car and head back on the open road.

He drives on the way to Lestallum, and Prompto dozes in the seat beside him, forehead pressed to the glass. When Prompto opens his eyes, he catches him looking; puts his hand out to where Gladiolus’s sits on the gearstick and threads their fingers together.

They’ll need to talk later, about Noct, about _this_ — whatever _this_ is. For now they have miles of lonely, open road, the sun to the east and blue skies all around.


End file.
